I ended up reaching the North and South Poles in the next five years!
Yes! I became a world poet! The number of decorations as orders and medals didnt fit even on ten jackets, nothing to say about diplomas! I posted each new award on my pages in social networks and got more and more likes from other poets and writers, who, following me, conquered the peaks that I had already conquered. I felt like a pioneer! The first one! The commander of contemporary poetry and lets face it! the real God of the Literary Olympus.
At the same time, I was keeping track of my competitors diplomas and awards, and as soon as I found something new, I immediately sent the Unrecognized Genius to the next competition and won it!
The whole world lay at my verses!
At that time, I had already published more than a hundred books and continued to write more and more! Every day a few poems! Yes, inspiration had nothing to do with it! The Creator must create constantly, without stopping! Poetry is work! Daily. Persistent. Like the work of a miner or a teacher. Or a doctor. You dont want to write? You have to, my friend! Sit down and write! Thats your mission on Earth. Choose a time, for example, every day from 10:00 p.m. to midnight, and knock yourself out! Not a day without a line! thats the motto of a true poet and writer!
Maya was the only one who didnt recognize my greatness. She didnt even laugh anymore, she just stopped communicating with me Well, its a pity! Of course, envy is a bad feeling, but I forgave Maya in advance. She is my sister. Let her envy for health! Maya, however, bought herself a flat in Miami, but as for me, recognition is more important! Im a genius, and shes just Maya, and her name, by the way, in Sanskrit means illusion!
While I was thinking about where to go now, to conquer Mars or Venus, an event occurred in my life that I didnt attach any importance to it. At the next party in the Central House of Writers, where I had been invited to read poetry by two charming ladies of the literary association Gods dandelion, a certain Ilya Bookfondoff appeared. He came to the microphone, introduced himself as the head of the Readers (!) Union just registered, and invited everyone to apply for membership. No dues were required to be paid, but the obligatory condition for a member of the Union was to read at least one book a year and write a review of no more than one page on it.
Wow! What the audacity! I went to the microphone and expressed my boo to Mr. Bookfondoff. We, poets and writers, gathered there, were born to write and not to read! It was us, the honored and awarded, the greatest and decorated with orders and medals, the winners and laureates, that all the rest, not present in that hall, must study! After all, at literary unions meetings, performances in libraries and schools, at concerts of poets and writers in our times, there were only poets and writers like ourselves! Readers and ordinary listeners had been sitting at home for ages!
The audience supported my boo with thunderous applause and shouts of Bravo!, but Mr. Bookfondoff tried to object that such an incredible number of Writers Unions had bred, since everyone who had a page in at least one of the social networks and knew how to write at least his full name, considered himself a writer. However, judging by the reports of publishers, people had stopped buying books, and, therefore, reading them. Like, that was why, in order to maintain interest in books, he, Mr. Bookfondoff, had decided to create the first and the only one in the world Union of Readers.
The discussion threatened to escalate into a sharp conflict. I offered Mr. Bookfondoff to read my books first and defiantly left the Central House of Writers. Everyone else followed me, except for Mr. Bookfondoff himself.
A year passed. At another evening at the Lyrics of Cuckoos kids Literary League, I learned that no one had joined the Readers Union, apart from Mr. Bookfondoff, meanwhile another Writers Union appeared in social networks!
And that time an Intergalactic one!
Wow! I rejoiced! Hang on, Maya! Now you just have to die of envy!
I was told its website where I got acquainted with the conditions for admission to the Union and with the list of competitions for the coming decade. So every year was run by its own Intergalactic Commission, issuing awards named after one of the planets of the Solar System, nearby Constellations, satellites and not only.
During the night I prepared a selection of my poems, the first of which, of course, was the Unrecognized Genius, and safely sent it to the Intergalactic Commission for consideration. At the same time, I applied to join the Union.
Imagine my surprise when I received the reply revealing that my poems were not subject even for a prize nomination, and I had been refused admission to the Union!
Oh, no! I wont leave it like that! I decided, and instead of continuing our correspondence, I went straight to their office.
The secretary politely listened to my demand for a face-to-face meeting with the most important person in the Intergalactic Union and escorted me to the meeting room.